


and friendly fire still burns

by lanyon



Series: i've got your blood under my fingernails [12]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Community: ccbingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:32:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is unchartered territory. Every book he’s ever read, every film he’s ever seen, always ends the same way. There is the climax (and how, and often, and Coulson’s been spending too much time with Barton) and then there is the ending. The lovers are united and they disappear into the sunset and it’s all reader, I married him and every other cliché from all the trashy airport novels he certainly doesn’t read. The back cover is closed and that’s it.  The end. The characters are safe within the pages and they have no future.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The end is the beginning. Books never get that right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and friendly fire still burns

Coulson wonders how things will change. It’s not that there has been a massive shift in how he thinks of Barton; it has been love for quite some time now. He supposes he’ll get used to the mumbling snuffles against the back of his neck in the morning and the slurred _five more minutes_ and the arm like steel around his waist as he tries to get out of bed before the whole day is wasted. It is not entirely lost on him that, for most people, 5am is an unreasonable time to get up in the first place.

 

To be fair to Clint, it’s not that he’s _not_ a morning person. It’s just that he gets comfortable and everything is so damned cozy in Phil’s apartment. It’s so obvious that Barton would happily forget about everything else in the world and, on some days, that doesn’t seem like the worst thing. Those are the days when the clouds hang a little heavier over SHIELD or when there are too many bruises and broken bones. They never once ask if it’s worth it, though. They never once give in and hide under the quilt that Coulson’s niece made for his fortieth birthday. They just go about their business as normal. They get up, they shower, they pass a mug of coffee back and forth between them and they drive to work. They grip each other’s hands tightly for a moment, white knuckles and blanching palms, and let go just before the elevator doors open.

 

Coulson is a little more worried about how it will change things at work. Fortunately, Barton is no more or no less insubordinate than usual. He still mouths off and Coulson is still more than capable of sending him to take a time-out if that’s what it takes to get his head back in the game. The opinions of their co-workers, although irrelevant, are many and varied. Natasha acknowledges them with little more than a flare of her nostrils. It’s her way of saying _about bloody time_. Fury would turn a blind eye, if he had one to spare, and Sitwell, bless him, says nothing (except for the day on which he gleefully tells Coulson that Barton has expanded his karaoke repertoire. Coulson doesn’t want to know). Tony is mostly confused.

 

“I thought you guys were fucking, like, two years ago.” And he looks at them as though they’re particularly dim so, really, there’s no change there. Steve sort of shifts from foot to foot and clearly has no idea whether to congratulate them or bring any attention to their relationship. It’s clear that his frames of reference for the twenty-first century are changing. Thor regards them with outright confusion. Apparently, there aren’t many same-gender relationships in Asgard because one certainly doesn’t include Loki’s forays into the mystical world of the female horse. It’s just as well. There’s probably only room for one eight-legged horse in the grand scheme of things. Bruce doesn’t say much. He looks about as surprised as Tony but he’s less unflattering about it.

 

One Friday, he mentions that Betty said something about having them over. This display of domesticity and acceptance is evidently a shock to Barton’s system and he voluntarily takes a time-out.

 

It’s okay, though. Coulson’s pretty sure that it is. Missions are still run as efficiently as ever, which is to say that Coulson has planned for every variable but they always end up the same; chaotic, dirty and occasionally foul-mouthed. Sometimes, he thinks that the Avengers have some kind of bet on who can cause the maximum collateral damage. Barton is less committed to the cause, though, because he knows that collateral damage results in excessive paperwork and less time to spend together, off the clock.

 

On one long and boring stake-out, Barton breaks radio silence to enquire as to whether Tony has air-conditioning in his suit and, if so, could he share the wealth. In unison, as always, Steve and Coulson tell him to shut up and everything is perfectly normal, until his grumbling starts up again and he complains that his clothes are sticking to him in inappropriate places. Everyone knows what’s going on, of course. Barton’s pushing his limits and Coulson does not bend. Barton apologises later, when no one can see and no one can hear, and _sorry_ silently mouthed onto the skin of Coulson’s shoulder is still sorry.

 

It works. Any reservations their colleagues might have had about their relationship are pretty much abolished after those first few missions. Coulson supposes that he is as curious they are, though, about how it’s going to turn out.

 

It is unchartered territory. Every book he’s ever read, every film he’s ever seen, always ends the same way. There is the climax (and _how_ , and often, and Coulson’s been spending too much time with Barton) and then there is the ending. The lovers are united and they disappear into the sunset and it’s all _reader, I married him_ and every other cliché from all the trashy airport novels he certainly doesn’t read. The back cover is closed and that’s it.  The end. The characters are safe within the pages and they have no future.

 

The end is the beginning. Books never get that right.

 

There is nothing safe about Clint Barton. It is not just that he is sadly lacking in self-preservation instincts. It is not just that he is a last word freak and an adrenaline junkie. It is that he makes Coulson _afraid_. At some point, Barton became entirely necessary to him and they’re off the edge of the map now. There be monsters here and Coulson wishes that wasn’t often the literal truth.

 

Fortunately, Barton is both the problem and the solution. He is the cause and he is the effect and when Coulson is five seconds from hyperventilating, Barton’s voice will crackle into life and he will somehow see the funny side of being trapped under rubble or being left behind because he didn’t make the pick-up on time. It is only when Coulson falls out of radio contact for three days that Barton seems to understand. He sits by Coulson’s hospital bed (an entirely unnecessary precaution in Coulson’s opinion; he is quite healthy, apart from the concussion) and grips Coulson’s hand tightly and _this is what it’s like being you, isn’t it?_

 

It’s there in the white knuckle grip, and in the blanching of their palms. Coulson might be the cornerstone of the Avengers Initiative but he is reliant enough on Barton that he cannot and he will not succeed without him. They’ll support each other and they couldn’t be happier, even when Barton is insisting that he drive them home or when Coulson’s in his office at two o’clock in the morning (and it’s _five more minutes_ ) or when there’s a phone call from a bar and Sitwell holds up the phone so that Coulson can hear Barton singing and Coulson can only lift his eyes to heaven because Barton doesn’t have the vocal range to sing Cher songs but he’s certainly got the enthusiasm.

 

Coulson hangs up. He switches off his phone. He relishes the peace and quiet. All will be well and all will be well. Everything has changed; Coulson’s reality has shifted and settled and he is in no rush to ride off into the sunset or to turn the last page. This is not the end of all things. (It is the beginning.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> +Title from Bell X1's _He Said She Said_.  
>  +For Bingo Prompt "Moral Support".  
> +The song Clint sings in karaoke that makes Phil hang up on Sitwell is _Just Like Jesse James_ by Cher because he _would_ find it funny to sing _take ten steps back cause i'm ready baby: aim and fire_.


End file.
